


Deep desire.

by Llamaonfire



Category: The Beatles
Genre: F/M, M/M, McLennon, Mirror of Erised, Present time, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-30 03:00:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llamaonfire/pseuds/Llamaonfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Co-written with: http://bewaremylove.tumblr.com/<br/>Paul travels through his memories and stumbles upon his most hidden, deepest desire, with the help of a magical object.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deep desire.

**Author's Note:**

> about the mirror of Erised:  
> The Mirror of Erised is a mirror, which, according to Albus Dumbledore, shows the "deepest and most desperate desire of one's heart." The name "Erised" is "desire" spelled backwards, as if reflected in a mirror. The happiest person in the world would look in the mirror and see a reflection of exactly the way he or she is. Inscribed across the top of the frame is the following text: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi. Reversing the inscription and rearranging the spaces produces: I show not your face but your heart's desire.

Paul woke up early that morning. It was chilly outside, he could see the gray clouds up in the sky and a soft wind playing with the leaves of the trees. He got up and took a quick shower and headed to take a trip to the past.

The Abbey Road Studios.

He arrived to the studio and stood on the side walk admiring the simple structure of the place. He smiled when a thousand memories crossed his mind, all good, cheerful, of course there had been awful shitty times, but nothing could take the good ones away from him, and he’d found In himself the ability to bury those that were too painful to remember deep within his soul, locking it away with his magic key, work.  There was no need to carry that baggage.

He walked up the entrance steps with his hand on the railing not being sure if he was doing it because he was subconsciously seeking for balance or just for the sheer pleasure of touching something that held memories. As he climbed the last step he stood in front of the door and carefully turned the doorknob.

The halls seemed as narrow as usual, or maybe even narrower.

He wandered the halls of the place, walking around the little, dark pathways of the old building. He was meant to be recording songs for his new album, but he took it upon himself to observed everything around him looking over the old pictures on the wall and the various little memories placed everywhere. Most of them had to do with his own life and made him feel like this was some kind of extension of his own home.

He felt his mind wander to the past, lingering in the moments that among all that craziness and ups and down seem odd, but in reality were perfect.  For the first time in a very long time he allowed himself to enjoy what he wasn’t able to in the past; letting his feet walk around the place, he felt once again a cascade of memories floating from one picture to the other.

Their young faces, smiling, sometimes fakely, sometimes just out of true happiness and contentedness. They had, after all, made their dreams come true and became bigger than Elvis. They had reached the “toppermost of the poppermost”.

His heels clicked on the wooden floor, as the light from his iPhone shinned the way up a small, weak staircase. He went up it and found himself in a room which its existence was previously unknown. It was dark, with a now dusty wooden floor and walls, only one small, round window very high up near the ceiling.

He shivered and breathed out a soft, strangely cold breath as he looked around the room, recognizing a few objects. He smiled when he found an old, lost treasure, John’s spare studio guitar. It was a classic styled rickenbacker, but this one was full of doodles made with permanent markers and nail polish. He ran his old fingers over the elevated bits of the doodle, remembering their careless times.

_“One, two, three, fawn!… Paul’s broken a glass, a glass, a glass he’s broken…… do you want to hold a penis?…. I believe ya johnny, yer right there boy haha… it’s you it’s you! I just can’t do it it’s murder….. this boy, that boy that boy, this boy hahahaha….. can’t breath after i’ve done that mouth organ bit….”_

His memories were so strong, that he swore he was back with the lads, hearing all or Ringo’s grammar murders, George eating the whole fridge and John making all his sarcastic and slightly queer jokes.

_“You’ve made a mistake! I know you did! …. let’s do it slower…. no! …. Ringo!!, keep your bit dead! RINGOOO!…. Paul forgot to sing again!…. I’ll try to remember john if I don’t it just too bad ant it…”_

He chuckled at all those memories… Boy, they were young and little did they know what awaited them.

Still with the guitar in his hands he walked over an old wooden stool that was carelessly placed in the middle of the room. With his left hand he brushed all the dust sitting over it. The dust flew into the air and it shone, ‘wow,’ he thought, ‘magic dust,’ he chuckled again, there was a song title: Magic Dust, he would have to think about the lyrics.

He sat on the stool, and the wood made a sort of cracking sound and in silence he prayed that it wouldn’t break. The very little light that was coming from that window was softly caressing him, it was a bit warm, which was good given how deadly cold the room felt.

He placed the guitar on his lap, the neck pointing to his left, his fingers carefully going over each one of the strings and he started to tune them, he hoped none of them would break; he knew, that because they were so old the chances of that to happen were even higher so he did it with special care. The first… Then the second… And he finally hit the sixth. Good. They were still in good shape.

He wasn’t thinking of playing anything special, he was determined to just let it happen. It wasn’t him the one controlling it, it was, well, the past. He mindlessly played a few chords, not really paying attention to what he was playing. He closed his eyes and threw his head back softly, feeling the music, breathing the music. Soon, those careless chords turned into a well known tune, he started to whisper the words along with the guitar, “Hold me close and tell me how you feel.”

John loved that song, that was one of the main reasons why they had recorded it. He had insisted a lot that that was the one to be recorded. He convinced them.

His mind got lost amongst all those words and soft chords taking him in a short trip to the past.

_“What the fuck are you doing, Macca?”,  John’s voice was filled with amusement. They were sitting in the Asher’s basement practicing the song, but for some reason Paul didn’t seem to get it, which was ridiculous because he loved the song, too._   
_“Huh?,” he lifted his huge hazel eyes and looked at his mate, “What do you mean?,”_   
_“You’re playing the wrong chords and your harmony seems weird,” he laughed again, “One would think that you lost your fucking gift.”_   
_Paul blinked repeatedly at those words causing John to get a warm feeling._   
_“I’m.. I’m not.. “ he sighed, “I don’t know, John, I know we’ve played it thousands of times but I don’t know what’s wrong,” his eyes were back on the guitar, his fingers changing from one chord to another and his mouth muttering the words softly._   
_“You need to feel the song, Paul,” he looked at his mate, “Like, you’re really longing to hear those words,” he kept quiet for a second and Paul lifted his eyes to see if John was going to say anything else. He was, “Sing it like you mean it, don’t worry about anything else, just.. feel it”_   
_“Do you mean it when you sing it?,” Paul’s eyes were intently looking at the other boy._   
_“I do”. Their eyes met for a second and while Paul wondered if there was a hidden message in those words.The younger boy nodded once and went back to playing the chords. After a couple of tries the song came out perfectly well. Paul had learned that he too had meant it._

He slowly opened his eyes, his fingers still slowly running up and down the neck of the guitar, his other hand softly caressing the strings.

As he let himself float back in his own pool of memories something triggered his sixth sense, a kind of movement. He turned around quickly, but saw nothing. The atmosphere of the room suddenly changed, the light coming from the high little window that before was quiet enough was now too little, the random shapes that before sparked with curiosity, now told him to walk away.

He instinctively hugged the guitar, and closed his eyes again. His chin found the curve of the place where the neck of the instrument met its curvy feminine shape.

Breathe.

He put the guitar down, sitting it next to the wooden stool where he was sitting and prepared himself to get up and for once and all leave the room, he was starting to feel uncomfortable and while he couldn’t say exactly why, he also thought that there was absolutely no need to stay and find out. As he stepped on the floor something caught his eye. Another movement, when he looked again he saw no one, there was, however, what it seemed to be an old mirror covered in old, dusty sheets with just a corner showing. “I’m going mad” he thought. “it’s just a bloody mirror ya know”

Still, his child like curiosity took over his old body, taking him to the mirror. He made a swift movement taking off the dusty sheet and discarding it causing it to pool on the floor right next to his feet. As soon as his eyes hit the mirror he was met with a distant shadow of a face, popping up behind some boxes behind him. He again out of hope and almost fear turned around, there was nothing again, expect that when he looked back into the mirror there was a figure standing next to him, the figure of an old, loved friend.

John.

His beautiful almond eyes had the same spark he’d seen the first time they met in that fateful day. His thin lips curving into a beautiful smile that made Paul feel completely disarmed.  His auburn hair was slicked back with grease and he wore a full black leather outfit with an unbelievable white undershirt. ‘Just like in Paris’, he thought.

Paul’s eyes were fixed on the image before him, his whole body seemed like it had been paused in time, because not a muscle was moved, except for one breathless, whisper. “John” he lips quivered at the so familiar name.

The figure of his old friend smiled and slowly his fingers found their way and started to draw small circles in the back of Paul’s hand. Paul felt like he was losing his breath, his eyes nailed to the image that the mirror was showing him, John’s hand finding his. The old man quickly looked at his hand. There was nothing there. A deep, heart quenching sense of emptiness and loneliness hit Paul harder than cupid’s arrows, forcing him to step back and once more focused his eyes in their.. his reflection. His eyes travelled to the bottom of the mirror where he saw John sitting with his legs crossed, a guitar in his arms, his eyes focused on him, with his right hand he tapped on the floor to the empty space next to him, inviting Paul to take a sit next to him and just… play.  Paul’s eyes began to water, what the fuck was that?, he looked at his friend smiling at him and muttered an apology, “I’m sorry, you’re not here.. I have to.. “ and with this he motioned to the entrance of the room, turned on his feet and started to walk away but the sound of some beautifully played chords stopped him. Music. It had always been the music. The music had brought them together and with music they’d said good bye. With music he was still saying goodbye, after all these years. “I’m going mad, it’s a reflection”

He turned around and saw John’s reflection again, the young boy was giving him the most heartwarming smile he’d ever seen. He strummed a couple of chords once more and Paul felt his feet moving in the direction where John was sitting. He came across the stool where he had been sitting earlier, took the guitar that was still lying on the floor and walked towards his old friend and sat next to him. They couldn’t really face each other, for Paul’s dismay, for John wasn’t really there, but their eyes met on the mirror and, well, it was good enough, he thought.

Paul’s fingers were playing with the strings, he was silently waiting for John to start, he smiled and then frowned at the silly thought, ‘way to make a good of yourself, Paul’. As if John had read his thoughts he started to play the first chords of that song that Paul so often dreamed of. None of them sang, Paul was starting to fear that this mirage didn’t come with people’s voices and that the song he heard was nothing but his strong imagination. The song went in and as it happened Paul went into the second trip to the past that day.

_“Well, come on,” Paul urged his friend, “I didn’t come all the fucking way here just to see you sit on your arse and not play it”_   
_John looked at his friend with a mixture of fondness and amusement, “Curiosity killed the cat, you know that?”_   
_“Lucky I forgot to be born one, then,” he winked at the auburn haired boy, “So?... Come on!!”_

_They were sitting in front of each other up in John’s little music room in Kenwood. Paul had completely taken over that horrible green sofa that John was reluctant to get rid of, leaving John with no other choice but to sit on that horribly uncomfortable chair that Cynthia had gotten him for Christmas last year. Paul saw when John started to look visibly uneasy, he wasn’t sure if asking what was wrong was the best thing to do, so he opted for picking up a guitar for himself but just when he was about starting to play John’s voice stopped him._

_“This.. This is difficult, because.., “ he sighed, “I’ve never written anything like this, I mean..  ,” Paul was raptly looking at him, making John feel even more nervous, “This is about me .. and.. I’ve never.. this is me..  too much me almost...” John’s eyes were pleading for something, understanding as he mindlessly joked trying to protect himself, his eyes looked so anxious, was John afraid of something?, “Just listen, ok?”_

_Paul simply nodded and let his body go loose against the sofa as he listened to those beautiful first chords. Paul marveled at the beauty of the music and the lyrics, there was no doubt that John had put great effort on that song. ‘It must mean a lot’, Paul thought to himself. He heard as John sang of places he still remembered, about old friends and lovers and about how no one compared, and no one would ever compare to that person he was singing to. Paul felt a spike of jealousy building up inside him, John said it was about him, was he seeing someone Paul didn’t know about?.. Or.._

_He decided to push those thoughts aside and just kept listening. When the song was over his lazy eyes focused on John and gave the older boy a sad yet honest smile, “That was beautiful, Johnny,” he sat straight as he said this, “Cyn is going to be really happy to know you wrote that for her”_

_John’s eyes were piercing on Paul’s, “It’s not… Not her, it’s not about her”_

_“Oh?”, Paul wasn’t genuinely surprised but this only added up to the jealousy he was already feeling, “I didn’t know..  I mean.. That you were, you know, seein..” he didn’t finish for he was abruptly interrupted by his friend._

_“I’m not. I’m not seeing anyone, or well, yes, I see lots of people, but no,” Fuck, good ramble, he thought._

_“Not about Cyn, but it is about someone and no one you’re seeing… “_

_“It’s no one new, Paul, this person has been in my life for a long time now,” he was hoping that Paul would get it now, but apparently he boy was even more oblivious than he thought._

_“Are you telling her? I mean, that you wrote that for her..”_

_“He just heard it,” his voice was just above a whisper but it was enough to make Paul finally look at him. He knew that it was worth it when he saw his friends lips opening in a beautiful smile._

Back in the present time he felt tears running down his cheeks when he remembered that he’d never found the courage to actually tell John that those feelings were quite reciprocated. He couldn’t help but crying at the solitude he had been hiding for years. He looked in front of him again with red, tearful eyes to see John looking at him with eyes full of love and concern. It was then that this might be the right moment, though at the same time it couldn’t have been seen as incredibly wrong. “I love you, John,” his hand looking for his friend’s, the reflection showed that it had found it but the reality was as cold as the floor he felt beneath his palm.

The pain of reality dragged its chains into Paul’s mind as he realized that it was probably just his craze, old mind. As he realized that John wouldn’t magically come out of that mirror or pop up behind him, like in his so loved romantic dramas, because he was gone.

Dead.

Paul broke, his spirit shattered into a million bits as he curled into himself, the mirror had shown Paul nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of his hearts, his best friend, his soulmate, his lover or whatever label was to be placed upon their love. He almost wailed as he choked in his own tears. Like an angel Mary, his oldest daughter apart from Heather, appeared having been alarmed by the sound of crying coming from the direction her dad had gone.

_“Dad? what’s wrong?”_

With no response apart from another weep from her old father, Mary cooed him in her warm arms as she guided him back to the main studio, but despite her better judgement she was tempted to look back at what seemed to make her father so upset. To her upon the mirror stood her parents, Paul old, but full of life and hope unlike the man in her arms and Linda still healthy. Both looking at her, hand in hand, smiling.

 _“Let’s go dad”_ she shook her head walking out.

**Author's Note:**

> Make sure to tell me what you thing in the comments!


End file.
